Suffer the Children
by Tarod
Summary: More or less a Duo vignette. *Warning* SHOUNEN-AI implications. You have been warned, if you don't like it, don't read it.


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Suffer the Children

By Tarod

Okay, **warning**. This is my first GW fic, ever. Duo is SO my favorite character and I love reading vignettes for him, so I tried. Didn't come out so well, but such is life. I was aiming for angst, but you don't have to tell me, I _know_ I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. 

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Warning #2: I am a fervent believer in the absolute perfectness of Heero and Duo as a couple. I realize a lot of people disagree (though why they have to choose **_Relena_** I don't know -_-; *shrug*) so, I have this fic written in such a way that it can be interpreted as either yaoi or non-yaoi until the last sentence. If you want it to be yaoi, then read on. If you don't, then just either skip the last sentence, or go away and read something else. You were warned, so I DON'T expect any flames. Got it?

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Warning #3: This fic was written at three in the morning. Please forgive any mistakes and/or incoherence.

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Disclaimer: Neither Gundam Wing, nor the poem "Suffer the Children" belong to me. Gundam Wing belongs to a whole horde of people, and I suppose "Suffer the Children" belongs to Mercedes Lackey (it can be found at the end of 'Oathbreakers', by said author). I'm not making any money off of this, so please don't sue me.

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It's destroying us, you know.

It's killing us on the inside, much as it has killed so many in reality. And the saddest thing is that it's too late to stop it. 

The war may stop, that's true, but it's already too late to save our souls. It's funny, really. Truly ironic. That we continue to fight, to allow more of our selves to disappear, all for a peace that might once have saved us, but can't anymore. Sometimes I almost turn blue laughing at the thought.

But then, I'm always laughing. There's a very simple reason, too. Some of them think it's a mask, the way stay sane. What they don't realize is that _everything_ is funny if looked at the right way. And since I left sanity behind long ago, I can almost always look at it in the right way.

I thought, when I surrendered to the madness, that the pain, the guilt, would all go away. It didn't, of course, but it's so much harder to escape insanity than to enter. It's like a giant labyrinth in your mind; every time you take another path, hoping it's the way out, the deeper you ultimately find yourself.

Madness wouldn't be such a bad thing, I guess, if I didn't _know_. These days it only augments my pain. At night, I dream of everyone that I have killed. Every single one that I know of. Apparently my subconscious keeps a running tally. And every night, all the faceless enemy confront me, accuse me. But they aren't as bad by half as those that I have killed up close and personal. These haunt me to what should be beyond endurance. 

My torment doesn't end when I wake. The can even follow me into the light of day. They talk to me, ask me why I killed them. Perhaps one of the reasons I talk so much is to drown out their questions. It never works. I always answer, when I do at all, that they know why. I always tell them that, and it's true, but they never stop asking. 

I like to think that I've gotten quite good at hiding such conversations. I know that I couldn't –can't – hide my insanity, but none of them realize fully. None of them – not the other pilots, not Hilde, none – see. None see how my braid – by precious, precious braid – which is so full of memories, is also soaked in blood. Everyday, I wash and dry my hair, but it's never truly clean, and the blood is always fresh. That's the _real_ reason I wear black; any other color would show the stains from my braid slapping my back with every breath I take. 

Sometimes I think that the only one who really understands me is Deathscythe, my beautiful Shinigami. Except for maybe Heero. I suppose, of all the pilots, he's the most like me. Perhaps that's why we irritate each other so much, yet still cling to each other, the ones most able to tolerate the other's company. His silence disturbs them, as my chatter annoys them. We suit one another. 

Occasionally, when I'm in a particularly introspective mood, like now, I think of a poem I once read. It had a line in it that calls him and me to mind. It went something like: "Death is my partner, blood my trade, war my passion wild." You don't get much more accurate than that, ne?

There was another bit as well: 

"Suffer, they suffer the children

When I see them, gods, how my heart breaks

It is ever and always the children

Who will pay for their parents' mistakes."

For our parents' sins and blindness, we must fight this war, sacrificing our childhood. I know that's not what the poem meant, exactly, but… does that make it any less true?

We will fight this war, and, win or lose, we will suffer for the rest of our lives, long or short as those may be. But… they say misery loves company… and Heero, we've both got misery to spare. Maybe… if we survive this war… we can alleviate our pain… together.

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Fin

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Okay, I know it was short. But… *sigh* Oh well. At least it's finished. This happens to be my first finished fic ever. I'm very proud of myself. Please, please don't flame me. 


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